


earth keeps shaking

by cicak



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn is a perfect cinnamon roll as per usual, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex Toys, and poe dameron hurts so pretty, discussion of the realities of, hurts everyone, space dongs, stormpilot nsfw fridays prompt, the erotic ideal of what a cis woman imagines a sex toy for a penis should be like, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7015285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicak/pseuds/cicak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as a joke. He turned 30, and his buddies got together and bought him a sex toy. Not just any sex toy either, they bought him the most expensive, most high end, most holonet lauded elite sex toy that the market has to offer, the Piston XLR. The package boasted twelve different sensation types, “optimised for twenty different species”, handsfree controls, with a long lasting battery and handy carrying case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	earth keeps shaking

It started as a joke. He turned 30, and his buddies got together and bought him a sex toy. Not just any sex toy either, they bought him the most expensive, most high end, most holonet lauded elite sex toy that the market has to offer, the Piston XLR. The package boasted twelve different sensation types, “optimised for twenty different species”, handsfree controls, with a long lasting battery and handy carrying case.

To top it off, it is housed in a sleek burnished silver cylinder that looks almost exactly like the backup coupler in a standard x-wing hyperdrive.

“We wanted to get you something to remember us by” Snap said. “We, and I say this entirely inclusively, we wanted you to think of all us when you touch yourself, which you’ll do a lot of now you’re old and decrepit and nobody will ever want you again.”

It was funny rather than cutting, after all, he had a girlfriend at the time. Hema was a cute mechanic with long pale, washed out hair who was half his size and a small ball of intense energy who would push him down all sweaty and wound up from crawling inside the bowels of the huge transports they had back in the republic fleet, and ride him until her legs were too weak to hold herself up anymore, when she would then expect him to take over and not come until she was well and truly seen to.

They tried the Piston XLR out once before they split up (she found someone else, someone bendier and less likely to die in a million tiny wet pieces) when they were both giggly and drunk and it felt pretty good, especially with her tits in his hands, and her sinuous body writhing against him as he gasped into its strange, impossibly tight and ripply insides, its intensity controlled by her hand.

Then though, he defected, bringing his squadron with him, and there wasn’t much time for much else. When he was packing his small bag for that fateful, carefully planned escape run, he looked around his room with the eye of the warrant officer who would come and scour it for evidence, and took all the incriminating things, the pictures of his mother, the soft rag doll with the chain stitch braids wrapped in spirals on the side of her head that he’d had since he was small, and the contents of his bedside table, which included the Piston XLR, a handful of prophylactics, some semi-legal stimpacks and a very illegal high-powered micro-blaster.

When he got through debrief on the other side, a bit bruised from the landing and the enormity of what he’d done and went to his new quarters, he realised that the Piston XLR was actually the largest thing he’d brought with him (BB-8 had brought himself, a willing defector). The person who’d unpacked his bag obviously had no idea what it was, and so had placed it on the desk, neatly wiped clean and polished to a shine.

That first night, he curls up into his (too large) bed by the warm amber light of BB-8’s charge cycle, and shakes and shakes and shakes, partly from the endless caff they gave him during his debrief and partly from the electric shocks of emotion, caught between the twin tortures of being far too wired to sleep but so tired he feels he doesn’t fit into his body anymore.

He wrenches himself out of the covers and grabs the Piston XLR from the table, and from the first roll of its pseudo tongue, the reassuring warmth, and the near-apocalyptic suction pushes him over the edge in two minutes flat. He bucks his hips, one hand in his mouth and one fisted in his hair, close to the roots, making it hurt, as he comes and comes and finally falls asleep as the machine goes through its afterglow cycle, slowly sucking as it self-cleans itself around him.

* * *

Snap came with him when he defected, and one day drops by on the way to briefing and sees the Piston XLR housing sitting on the side. The complex machinery was exposed to air dry, the inner sock hanging over the towel rail, wrapped in an old gym sweat rag, drying off.

Snap stops when he sees it and points like he was raised on a moon. “Man, you still have that?” There’s an incredulous tone to his voice, which is frankly unfair, as he _bought it._

Poe wrinkles his brow. “Yeah? I mean, it’s a 500 credit piece of engineering. I’m not going to just throw it away. I know we were paid well back then, but come on.”

Snap shakes his head like Poe is the strange one, and holds his hands up when he sees Poe’s face. “Just you know, thought you’d have an endless stream of beautiful rebel honeys all over you now you’re here. I mean, man, even I have someone. You okay?”

It's that little comment, that faux concern from someone who is hiding a smile like he just got the best piece of gossip in the galaxy, its that that flicks the switches of all his little internal insecurities, the sex shame that his parents tried hard to prevent him from developing. He ends up snapping at him (which honestly is probably why Snap got his name in the first place), “Come on, don’t be weird man, it's hard to be the boss. Can’t fuck around with you guys anymore now we’re degenerate defectors. Gotta be respectable.” He pushes his irritation down under a rakish smile and grabs his jacket, clicks his fingers at BB-8 to follow.

Snap shrugs, and they go off to briefing. That night, Poe thinks about going to the bar, try and pick someone up, but he’s so tired, brain buzzing, so instead he uses his hand, and it’s good, it’s fine, but he needs to use his brain a bit more than normal, and it takes longer. But whatever. Good to stay in practice.

He leans on his hand for the rest of the year, pushes the Piston XLR into the drawer and forgets about it. He has sex with a few people, nice people who smile as he fucks them and grin when they come underneath his fingers and tongue. It's good, it's healthy, and he’s got a reputation now, for being this generous, beautiful lover, which is always a good thing to cultivate.

There’s still this part inside him that misses that selfish pursuit of highly optimised, vaguely inhuman pleasure, but he puts it in the box with his other insecurities.

Which works well for him for a while, possibly could have worked for him for the rest of his life, but then he went on a mission and got captured that was followed by the horrible afternoon when Kylo Ren reached in and took each of those insecurities out and smirked at them, and then destroys the box as he rampages through his mind, looking in all the deepest, darkest corners for the ghost of Luke Skywalker.

Poe thought he was going to die, if not from the incredible physical pain, but from the embarrassment and shame - the sheer emotional pain of being turned inside out and wrung out and abandoned when it turned out he was worthless, useless, not even important enough to execute.

He didn’t die, but when he gets back, Kylo Ren hides behind his eyelids, walks into his fantasies, creeps into the corners of his most treasured memories. In the aftermath of the Starkiller run most of his fuckbuddies are dead, and those that are left have their own problems, and somehow, he’s found himself imprinting on a beautiful ex-stormtrooper who is on the edge of death after a fight with Kylo Ren himself.

This was not what being a war hero was supposed to be about.

He finds himself in a new room, and whoever transferred him was discreet and a joy, and had plugged the Piston XLR in to charge. He doesn’t even get off his knees from getting it out of the bottom drawer, just slides his dick in, just barely raised from softness, turns it on and braces the base between his thighs, lets it suck, rub, squeeze, buzz and squelch him into a beautiful Ren-less oblivion.

Those first few horrible weeks after Starkiller, where they don’t know about whether Rey will be able to find Skywalker, whether he will even be where the map indicates, and Finn remained in a medical coma, floating like a corpse in the bacta tank, Poe works himself ragged, and then lets the Piston XLR take away the stress at the end of the day.

Its as good a coping mechanism as any.

Then, on the day word comes from Chewbacca that Rey has found Luke Skywalker, and has begun training with him on board the Millennium Falcon, Finn wakes up.

There must have been something in what they were feeding him in the First Order, because the doctors are perplexed as to just how he managed to get through this without losing anything more than a bit of feeling in his skin. Now that his wounds are healed, Finn is thriving. He seems to grow each time Poe sees him in the sunlight, like some kind of huge, beautifully muscular flower.

There’s a party (there’s always a party, this base never stops the party), and Finn comes round to borrow a shirt or something, it’s not really clear exactly why he’s there, but hey, they’re friends. It’s nice to have friends.

Poe’s in the fresher for _barely_ a minute, and when he comes out, he finds Finn with the Piston XLR in his hands, looking at it with interest.

“What’s this?” he says. “Is this from like, your first x-wing or something?”

Poe could almost have got away with it. All he had to do was be a bit faster at saying ‘yes’ and not distracted by Finn for _once_. Instead, BB-8, who is charging and therefore should be in privacy mode and shouldn’t even be able to eavesdrop, burbles out, in deliberately easy language as he knows Finn is still learning, “it is Poe’s favourite toy!”

Finn brightens “Toy? What kind of toy? Is it a game? Can we play?”

“Its for the kind of sex you have by yourself!” BB-8 replies, just as Poe snaps “POWER DOWN” and BB-8 does, because he hasn’t worked out how to overrule that fundamental part of his programming. Poe feels bad, but sometimes you have to take things into your own hands.

Although if he did that more often, maybe he wouldn’t be in this position.

Finn is looking at the Piston XLR with a deliberately neutral expression. Probably working out how to throw it out of the window and scour his hands, Poe thinks.

Instead Finn looks at him, and quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Poe is blushing but he’s battling through it. “Look, it’s natural right? Everyone touches themselves. It’s just like, an accessory. Like a belt. It’s not necessary, if everything fits right, but if it doesn’t, there’s nothing wrong with using one.”

Finn turns it over in his hands, his brow furrowed as he processes this new information, and god, Poe needs him to stop touching it with those lovely wide hands as soon as possible.

Then he holds his hand out, and says “Show me.”

Poe starts to protest “Buddy, that’s a little-” before Finn cuts him off.

“No”, he says. “On me. I don’t get it. Show me how to use it.”

Poe doesn’t gape, but he also doesn’t wait for it to get weird.

“Turn around” he whispers, and Finn _does_. He smells beautiful, and Poe can’t help himself but kiss him in the crook of his lovely neck, salty and strong and he can feel it when Finn swallows, feel the way he shivers when Poe uses his teeth against the strong meat of the muscle there.

Poe almost spins Finn around then, kisses him properly, but maybe there’ll be time for that later, and so instead Poe reaches around and undoes the button fly of Finn’s trousers (and of course there’s no belt here, the weird unisex fit of his earlier metaphor, his self-justification, in this case held up by the strength and power in Finn’s quads and incredible ass). Finn is loose, standing with soft knees like he’s waiting to take a punch, and so Poe has this perfect view as he slides Finn’s dick out of where it is jammed into the left pant leg, rock hard and flushed at the tip, and slides it into the Piston XLR. He knows what it feels like, what it looks like, how strange it feels to have this metal cylinder between your legs cold and unyielding, how it looks like something out of terrible clone wars era pornography before people got any class about prostheses. Finn is breathing heavily, controlling himself, and Poe can’t be having any of _that_ and so presses the button on the base that makes everything warm and slick and tight like a cross between a vestal virgin and a small black hole, and starts to pump, and Finn shouts, his breath leaving his lungs all in one go at the sheer force of how good it feels.

“Oh god, Poe, I get it, I really get it” he gasps, and Poe gives in and kisses behind his ear as he presses the button that takes it into a higher level of intensity, and listens as Finn loses words completely.

Those soft knees were a bad idea, even if it meant Poe could see, because he can tell what stage the cycle is at (the slow delicious slide of something akin to a prehensile, willing, _salivating_ tongue wrapping around your dick, the slight roughness at the head just far too good to be real), because Finn drops to his knees, the Piston XLR standing straight up and yeah, this whole detached thing is over, and so Poe drops down, straddles Finn’s lap and kisses him, the weight of the Piston XLR resting between their spread thighs as it rocks between them. Finn’s face is wet, he’s crying with the intensity of it, and then there’s the moment the little computer inside the machine decides that he’s had enough, because Poe can feel all the little servos and widgets moving between his thighs, and that is enough for him to come himself, just at the knowledge of what is coming for Finn, right in his own badly fitting trousers, with a little grunt and gasp.

By the time he comes back to himself, Finn is whimpering, which makes Poe panic for a second, but it is obviously in a good way, so instead he just starts murmuring in his ear, “You’re okay, you’re doing so good, buddy just give into it, I got you, it’s got you. Just let go, okay? There’s no point fighting it as it's going to blow your mind anyway, so just relax, relax and let it take you.”

Finn lifts his beautiful, broken face, and looks Poe straight in the eye for a glorious moment before his face crumples and he chokes as he comes, and comes, and comes, keeps coming until he looks like he’s in pain with the intensity of it. Poe kisses around his face, rubs his back, down his arms, and Finn just buries his head in the crook of Poe’s neck and fists his hands tighter in his shirt and gives out a whole body shudder, almost a convulsion, and then a final yell, his chest heaving, wracked with deep, gasping breaths as he comes down from it.

It takes him a long time to open his eyes, even after the Piston XLR gives the sweet melodic purr that indicates a completed cycle. Poe just continues to stroke him, but when the cleanup cycle starts a few seconds later, it knocks Finn out of his trance.

“Oh no no, it’s too much, I’m too sensitive, please” he whimpers, but doesn’t let go of Poe’s shirt, so Poe reaches down, holds the base of Finn’s dick and pulls the toy off him in one quick, smooth motion.

There’s a tiny bit of come on the tip, just pooling in the delicate pout of his foreskin, and Poe wants to bend down and suck it off, but that would be uncharitable, and really, he is feeling very uncomfortable in his come-sodden pants himself.

Finn laughs then, and Poe can feel it, and then he says “Yeah, okay, I get it now,” between giggles, and kisses Poe softly, his lips luscious and his mouth wet and cool like spring water.

“Poe” he says, between kisses. “I don’t want to go to the party anymore.”

Poe smiles against his mouth. “Yeah buddy. Let’s stay here, okay?”

“Mmmm.” Finn says, and kisses him again. “How long until that thing recharges?”

“About twenty minutes?” Poe estimates.

“Good. I can’t wait to see your face as you use it,” Finn says, and Poe shudders, bites his lip, and says “Oh Buddy, and you haven’t even seen Marathon mode yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW Fridays have been so much fun, you should come and play with us! It runs Fridays from around 7pm BST, over at my tumblr, [cicaklah.tumblr.com](http://cicaklah.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you want to imagine what the Piston XLR looks like, imagine all the sex toys [in this article](https://www.buzzfeed.com/kevinsmith/sex-toys-for-a-penis?utm_term=.eaVYGzDnd#.csQOM43LP) inside one housing. Particularly the autoblow 2. That gif is a gift.


End file.
